Messages and Miracles
by starry19
Summary: "Even more painful was the realization that she was correct in her accusations. And that if he lost her now, it was no one's fault but his own. Not Red John's, just his. A flawed man, too scared to cross the distance that had bridged them for so long."


**AN:** This is entirely itsavolcano's fault. Seriously. She was all, "listen to this song, it's giving me feels." So I did. She wasn't kidding about the feels. I know I said I was taking a break, but I couldn't help myself. If you're wondering, the song is "Like Real People Do" by Hozier.

**Messages and Miracles**

Once or twice the hours after his release from the TSA, Jane wondered if he'd made up the entire thing with Lisbon. If his brain had simply snapped, and he'd simply fantasized about her walking in the door and saving him, figuratively if not literally.

When Abbott had arrived, she'd left, smiling at him so sweetly he'd thought his heart would burst. He didn't want her to go, but apparently she had some idea about professionalism in front of their boss, and he would have been utterly unable to stop looking at her.

So he'd made a valiant attempt to turn his attention back to the TSA hearing. He could still feel the heat of her skin under his fingertips, could still taste her subtle lip balm.

Goosebumps rose on his arms.

That had been hours ago.

Someone at the airport had been on a bit of a power trip and had tried to make things difficult for the FBI. Consequently, the flight with Lisbon, Fischer, and Cho departed well before he was set free. It was overly dramatic, but he felt like his heart had taken off with her. The only consolation was that he would be headed in that direction soon.

As soon as he was able, he called her. It went straight to voice mail, telling him she was still in the air.

He left a message anyway. "Teresa," he said, surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice. "I'm finally a free man." He tried to sound jaunty, but the words were true in more than one way. "Anyway, I'll be on the next possible flight, though I'm not sure when that is." He blinked. This was a stupid-sounding conversation to have after what had passed between them. "Call me when you get this."

Some of the most important milestones in his relationship with Lisbon had started in such a way.

_I'm sorry we argued. Call me._ He could still taste the fear that had come later.

_I'm sorry, Patrick. Teresa can't come to the phone right now._ He'd gathered her into his arms at the scene before he'd even known she was still alive, had nearly choked on his relief and hope when he'd felt her breathing, had pressed a trembling palm over her heart for further reassurance. He could hear the sirens of the first responders in the distance, coming closer, but it was still just the two of them, and only he would remember this moment. So he had broken down, had buried his face in her hair and given a strangled sob, full of fear that he could lose her, that he _would_ lose her.

_Call me. Please. Just call me._ Just a few hours ago, driving too fast, her hurt words still ringing in his ears. Even more painful was the realization that she was correct in her accusations. And that if he lost her now, it was no one's fault but his own. Not Red John's, just his. A flawed man, too scared to cross the distance that had bridged them for so long.

_Call me when you get this._ That was now, as they hovered on the edge of a different kind of relationship, one he was suddenly desperate to have.

She hadn't called him back the other times. Dimly, he wondered if she would now.

Limping slightly, he walked to the nearest place that sold tea, then sank gratefully into a chair next to Gate 4. He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. He needed to shower. He felt dangerously close to tears.

His phone rang.

His hands shook too badly and he had to swipe the screen twice before he could answer. "Hey," he all-but croaked.

"Hey yourself," she responded, voice warm, light.

"Are you in Austin?" he wondered, hearing the sounds of people in the background of her call.

"We just touched down," she replied.

So calling him had been the first thing she'd done. He almost smiled. "I'm glad you made it."

There was a brief, awkward pause. "So I'm guessing since you're talking to me you're still at the airport?" Lisbon finally asked. "You're not angering the TSA further by illegally using your phone on board a plane?"

He did smile now. "You're correct," he assured her. "I'm currently sitting on some lovely blue vinyl chair, waiting for Abbott to show up and tell me when I get to go home." _To you_, he mentally added.

"Those chairs get awfully uncomfortable after a few hours," she told him, and he could tell she was rummaging in the overhead bin for her bag. "I'd know; I sat on one most of last night before I could see you this morning."

Story of their lives - Lisbon waiting for him. "Was it worth it?" he suddenly wanted to know. Just as suddenly, he was sorry he'd asked. Because what if she actually told him?

"It has been so far," she said, sounding almost shy, and he took a deep breath.

The silence lengthened between them again.

"Abbott's coming," he finally said, spotting the familiar man emerging from a side door. "I'll call you when I land?" He left it a question - it was her choice, after all. He now existed entirely for her, and whatever she wanted, she would have.

"Yeah," she answered almost immediately. "Jane?" she tacked on quickly, like she was screwing up her courage.

"Hm?"

"Do you...would you like to come over after you land? I mean, you don't have to, I'm sure you're tired and it's been a really long few days, but I was thinking we could order in and maybe...talk about some stuff or..." She trailed off, sounding embarrassed by her barrage of words.

"Yes," he said simply. "I would."

She didn't speak, but he knew she was smiling.

"Teresa?" he added, heart full again. "I love you."

He plainly heard the shaking breath she drew. "I love you, too."

He disconnected the call without telling her goodbye. He'd had quite enough of those lately.

Four hours later, he was unlocking the door to the Airstream, feeling shaky again. The shower helped, all hot water and billowing steam. He went through the motions, but his mind was across town. He shaved, tried unsuccessfully to tame his hair, splashed on cologne.

It was early evening, and the lights of Austin were just starting to flicker on. Lisbon had left her porch light on for him, beckoning him inside.

He took a deep breath.

Everything he'd wanted for years was just on the other side of the nondescript door. All he had to do was open it.

And then Lisbon took it out of his hands, making the step for both of them, appearing at the threshold, fingers wrapped around the handle as she held the door open.

He stepped inside with a smile, turning back to her as she closed it.

For the first time since he'd kissed her, she was close enough to touch.

So he did.

Reached for her hands, pulled her towards him. She came willingly, eyes fluttering shut as she rested her cheek against his shoulder, arms circled around his waist. Holding him like a lover.

He stroked her hair, her back, touching her in the way he had dreamed of doing for so long.

This wasn't a dream, however - not anymore.

Overwhelmed, he tightened his hold, pressed his face into her neck, felt her hands tentatively slide into his hair.

He lifted his head until they were nose to nose, then kissed her lightly, slowly, her bottom lip between both of his. She arched up into him, and his hands went to her hips before running the tip of his tongue against the seam of her mouth.

Her hand was against his face again, keeping him close. He wanted to nuzzle into her touch, but he would have to stop kissing her, something he didn't think he was physically capable of doing just yet. He reminded himself that he had all the time in the world now, that this wasn't some sort of magic spell that would only given them a day to be together.

Unexpectedly, she nipped lightly at his lips, and he groaned, kissed her so hard their teeth clinked, a hot rush of desire thundering through his veins.

She chuckled against his mouth, and it was the most sensual sound he'd ever heard.

With great effort, he pulled back, breathing heavily, then gathered her close again. For no more than a minute, he imagined, truly imagined, what making love to her would be like. He'd thought about this before, many, many times, but he'd never been able to address it in such concrete terms, never been able to wonder _when_ and be able to come up with a few actual potential times.

Her fingers against his scalp were soothing, and he focused on them, calming down.

"Hi," he finally whispered, and Lisbon laughed out loud.

"Hi," she echoed, grin still in place.

She looked...joyful, he decided. And it was because of him. It was humbling.

"I was promised food and conversation," he teased. "Please tell me it wasn't just some sort of clever plot to get me here."

She shook her head, then tugged on his hand, leading him deeper into the house. He had never been here before, and that made him a little sad.

"I ordered pizza," she told him. "Nothing fancy, but after the last few days, I needed some comfort food."

"Pizza sounds great." She could have suggested SpaghettiOs and Ramen noodles and he would have been just as pleased.

They ate off of paper plates and drank beer. It was perfect.

He purposely kept the conversation light during their meal, wanting to keep her smiling, wanting to keep things easy between them. They'd had a very heavy twenty four hours, and he wanted to feel like, well, _them_ again.

Later, they sat side by side on her couch. Lisbon curled her feet underneath her, and he carefully reached for her hand, then, on a whim, brought her knuckles to his lips.

Lisbon followed the gesture with her eyes, and he was mesmerized by the look he saw there.

"Conversation?" he prompted gently.

She let out a deep breath, then another. Eventually, she looked away. "I have so much I want to say to you, so much I've wanted to say for years, but it's a lot harder to do than I'd imagined."

He smiled ruefully. He knew that very well. "We don't have to do this tonight," he told her. "It's okay."

But she shook her head. "You deserve to hear at least part of it. After all, you confessed to me in front of about a hundred strangers."

"Desperate times," he teased.

She was silent, unsmiling, and he squeezed her fingers. "I've built my entire life around you for a decade and a half," she finally said. "I've been in love with you for almost that long, too, though it took me a long time to figure it out."

She pushed at her hair. "You have...hurt me and broken my heart and left me. And you did most of these things deliberately."

There was no contention he could make, and he felt the guilt of thirteen years of pain creeping up his throat.

"Still, I keep taking you back, even if we weren't really involved. Sometimes, I ask myself why."

"I do, too," he whispered. He was starting to be afraid, thinking she would talk herself out of this.

The she shrugged. "Love is stupid," she said. "The heart wants what the heart wants. You never asked me to wait. And I knew revenge would always be your first priority, even if I didn't want it to be true. Sometimes, when it got too bad, I wondered what it meant, that you wanted a serial killer more than you wanted to be with me."

His grip on her hand was painfully tight, he knew that. But he held on, willing her to not give up.

"I figured it out, though," she said quietly. "It meant that you loved your family more than your own happiness, even if I disagreed with what you were doing. And that was something I couldn't argue with."

She was giving him a very watered down version of her thought process, he knew that. "I'm sorry for what I put you through," he murmured. "And yes, I knew what I was doing. But I was counting on you to still have my back. You were the only person in my corner, and you will never know what that meant to me."

Lisbon was quiet, looking at their linked hands, so he spoke again.

"I've adored you since that first case we worked," he admitted. "But I brushed it aside. It wasn't the time, and I didn't want to think that it was possible for me to fall in love again. It didn't seem right, didn't seem fair. My family was dead - I didn't get another chance to be happy."

He shifted, facing her directly. "But you _did_ make me happy, even then. I want to make sure you understand that."

Shyly, she met his eyes. "You made me happy, too. Despite the crap you pulled, despite what you put me through, I was miserable without you. Even after all the stupid stunts, or the lying, I still wanted to walk into my office at the end of the day and find you on my couch."

He kissed her hand again. "I just wanted to be close to you."

Abruptly, she leaned into him, ducking under his arm to curl closer. He splayed his hand on her side, lips pressed to the top of her head. Belatedly, he realized she was giving him what he'd just said he'd wanted - to be close to her.

He closed his eyes, pulled her closer. They had a great deal of hurt to work through, on both sides - Lorelei, Marcus, their two year separation, the times he'd left her, how she'd almost left _him_. Plenty of pain to dredge up, things that truly needed to be spoken about.

But no more tonight.

Tonight was the first night they could be together, openly. He didn't want to spend all of it tearing old wounds open, even if it would do them good.

"I love you," she whispered to his shoulder. "Can we just agree to not put ourselves through this mess ever again?"

"Yes," he said vehemently. Then, quieter, "I love you."

She slept in his arms that night, and _he_ slept in her bed, the first time he'd slept in a bed in an eternity. As Lisbon's relationship with Pike had progressed, he'd found himself less and less able to cope with the empty Airstream.

Emotionally, he was a wreck. He knew that. He had issues that would send most women running for the hills. Not this one. She ran _towards_ him.

He was unbelievably lucky.

He owed her so much, owed her life several times over, owed her his happiness, the fact that he wasn't living in a cardboard box somewhere, or in jail, nearly every moment of true hope he'd experienced since his family had been taken from him.

She was beautiful and selfless and strong and forgiving, and she wanted _him_.

There was so much more that needed to be said, so much more he needed to make her understand. And so much he needed to make up to her.

He would never be able to go back and change the things he had done in their pasts that had hurt her the most. But he _could_ do something about her future, could take responsibility for her happiness.

She shifted, snuggled deeper into his embrace, and he watched her face with something approaching reverence. She was his own personal miracle.

And he wanted..._God_, how he wanted. Things he had hardly allowed himself to dream about were now things almost in his grasp. He wanted lazy Sunday mornings spent making love, wanted relaxing weeknights where they fought over who would do the dishes, wanted the rest of his life, _their_ lives.

When her lashes rose the next morning, when he saw the love and affection reflected in her eyes, it took his breath away.

He had no idea how long they stayed that way, eyes locked, noses almost touching, the backs of his fingers tracing a caressing pattern from her temple to her collarbone and back again.

This was all he had ever wanted - the freedom to love and be loved again.

And when she rolled to kiss him, warm hands on either side of his face, he knew he would do it all over again. The years since Angela and Charlotte had been bleak, dark, and often painful. But he would repeat them if this was his reward.

He and Lisbon had been hurt so deeply, had been so profoundly changed by the times they had spent together and the times they had spent apart, that he was certain they were far from the two people who had met in an office in California a lifetime ago.

He still didn't know if he could be the man she deserved, but he did know that he would do whatever it took to make her happy. And that he would never stop feeling slightly shell-shocked that she was his.

It was a good feeling, though.

Scratch that, he amended, running his hands through her hair.

It was the best feeling he could imagine.

At least, it was until her clever fingers undid the buttons of his shirt. And then he realized he had no idea what pleasure was.

Lisbon took great delight in showing him.


End file.
